Chapter XVIII: Book II: Founding the Kingdom (5)

He found himself listening intently, his ears strained to catch the least sound; at length he thought he heard a movement inside, and a great wave of relief swept over him.

... “Thank God!” ... He waited for the door to be opened—but nothing happened; nothing more could be heard.... What can she be doing? Didn’t she hear me? What in Heaven’s name has she put in front of the door?...

Per Hansa had begun to shove against the panel.

“Open the door, I tell you!... Beret—where are you?” ...

Once more he listened; once more he caught a faint sound; but the blood pounding in his ears deafened him now. Pulling himself together, he shoved against the door with all his strength—shoved until red streaks were flashing before his eyes. The door began to give—the opening widened; at last he had pushed it wide enough to slip through.

... “_Beret_!” ... The anguish of his cry cut through the air.... “Beret!” ...

Now he stood in the middle of the room. It was absolutely dark before his eyes; he looked wildly around, but could see nothing.

... “Beret, where are you?” ...

No answer came—there was no one to be seen. But wasn’t that a sound? “Beret!” he called again, sharply. He heard it now distinctly. Was it coming from one of the beds, or over there by the door?... It was a faint, whimpering sound. He rushed to the beds and threw off the bedclothes—no one in this one, no one in that one—it must be over by the door!... He staggered back—the big chest was standing in front of the door. Who could have dragged it there?... Per Hansa flung the cover open with frantic haste. The sight that met his eyes made his blood run cold. Down in the depths of the great chest lay Beret, huddled up and holding the baby in her arms; And-Ongen was crouching at her feet—the whimpering sound had come from her.

It seemed for a moment as if he would go mad; the room swam and receded in dizzy circles.... But things had to be done. First he lifted And-Ongen out and carried her to the bed—then the baby. At last he took Beret up in his arms, slammed down the lid of the chest, and set her on it.

... “Beret, Beret!” ... he kept whispering.

All his strength seemed to leave him as he looked into her tear-swollen face; yet it wasn’t her tears that drained his heart dry—the face was that of a stranger, behind which her own face seemed to be hidden.

He gazed at her helplessly, imploringly; she returned the gaze in a fixed stare, and whispered hoarsely:

“Hasn’t the devil got you yet? He has been all around here to-day.... Put the chest back in front of the door right away! He doesn’t dare to take the chest, you see.... We must hide in it—all of us!”

“Oh, Beret!” begged Per Hansa, his very soul in the cry. Speechless and all undone, he sank down before her, threw his arms around her waist, and buried his head in her lap—as if he were a child needing comfort.

The action touched her; she began to pat his head, running her fingers through his hair and stroking his cheek.... “That’s right!” she crooned.... “Weep now, weep much and long because of your sin!... So I have done every night—not that it helps much.... Out here nobody pays attention to our tears ... it’s too open and wild ... but it does no harm to try.”

“Oh, Beret, my own girl!”

“Yes, yes, I know,” she said, as if to hush him. She grew more loving, caressed him tenderly, bent over to lift him up to her.... “Don’t be afraid, dear boy of mine!... For ... well ... it’s always worst just before it’s over!”

Per Hansa gazed deep into her eyes; a sound of agony came from his throat; he sank down suddenly in a heap and knew nothing more....

Outside, the fiendish shapes flickered and danced in the dying glow of the day. The breeze had died down; the air seemed unaccountably lighter.

... That night the Great Prairie stretched herself voluptuously; giantlike and full of cunning, she laughed softly into the reddish moon. “Now we will see what human might may avail against us!... Now we’ll see!” ...

X

And now had begun a seemingly endless struggle between man’s fortitude in adversity, on the one hand, and the powers of evil in high places, on the other. There were signs of the scourge in the summer of ’73, but not before the following year did it assume the proportions of a plague; after that it raged with unabated fury throughout the years ’74, ’75, ’76, ’77, and part of ’78; then it disappeared as suddenly and mysteriously as it had come. The devastation it wrought was terrible; it made beggars of some, and drove others insane; still others it sent wandering back to the forest lands, though they found conditions little better there, either.... But the greater number simply hung on where they were. They stayed because poverty, that most supreme of masters, had deprived them of the liberty to rise up and go away. And where would they have gone? In the name of Heaven, whither would they have fled?

In the course of time it came about that fresh inroads of settlers, just as poverty-stricken as they were, arrived to help them suffer privation and to wait for better times.... Beautiful out here on the wide prairie—yes, beautiful indeed!... The finest soil you ever dreamed of—a veritable Land of Canaan!... One caravan after another came creaking along, a single wagon dropping out to settle here, another to settle there; for it really looked wonderful, this vast expanse of level, smiling plain—the new Promised Land into which the Lord was leading His poor people from all the corners of the earth!...

But the plague of locusts proved as certain as the seasons. All that grew above the ground, with the exception of the wild grass, it would pounce upon and destroy; the grass it left untouched because it had grown here ere time was and _without the aid of man’s hand_....

Who would dare affirm that this plague was not of supernatural origin? During the spring season, and throughout the early part of the summer, the air would be as pure and clear as if it had been filtered, wrapping and caressing the body like the finest silk; the sky would be as blue as if it had been scoured and newly painted; everything planted in the ground by man would grow as if by magic, filling out with an amazing fruitfulness, as the long warm days passed in endless array, until it bent under its own burden. And then, just as the process of ripening had begun, or perhaps a little before, the plague would descend upon them, suddenly, mysteriously, disastrously! On a certain bright, sunny day, when the breeze sighed its loveliest out of the northwest, strange clouds would appear in the western sky; swiftly they would advance, floating lazily through the clear air, a sight beautiful to behold. But these clouds would be made up of innumerable dark-brown bodies with slender legs, sailing on transparent wings; in an instant the air would be filled with nameless, unclean creatures—legions on legions of them, hosts without number! Now pity the fields that the hand of man had planted with so much care! And the ruthless marauders invariably came out of the clear northwest where the afternoon glow was brightest, most marvellous; more than often toward evening, when the day was sinking to rest and all earth seemed at peace, they would come. To these wandering Norsemen, the old adage that all evil dwells below and springs from the north, was proving true again.[21]

[21] An old superstition that goes back to Norse mythology: the Kingdom of Darkness and Evil was located in the far north; the way to Hell led downward and in a northerly direction. In the practice of sorcery and witchcraft, whenever water was to be used it must always be taken from streams flowing from south to north, for such water had supernatural power.

During the summer of their first visitation, the demons left behind them evil enough to pollute a whole continent. In the plowed fields they laid tiny, frail eggs, having the appearance of fine dry sawdust; although they seemed so delicate, these eggs would lie there unharmed during the wet fall season, and all through the winter, embedded in ice and covered by many feet of snow, thawing and freezing by turns in the early spring; but when the hot sun of summer had warmed them for a while they would suddenly burst open, letting loose a host of voracious, crawling devils. This phenomenon called to mind another saying: No evil is quite so bad as that which man himself fosters. It seemed to be true enough in this case; for these little wriggling demons were not only revoltingly nasty to look at, but they also caused an even greater devastation than those which came flying on the wings of the western breeze.

Not that these others ceased coming now, because man had raised a crop of his own—God, no! It would happen for days at a time, during the height of the pest season, that one could not see clear sky. But not always did the scourge choose to descend; often the locust clouds would come drifting across the sun, very much like streamers of snow, floating lazily by for days on end; then, all of a sudden, as if overcome by their own neglect, they would swoop down, dashing and spreading out like an angry flood, slicing and shearing, cutting with greedy teeth, laying waste every foot of the field they lighted in. At last, perhaps by the time the next afternoon’s breeze had risen, they would apparently take the notion that this wasn’t a fit place to stay in; in a moment they would fly up and be gone in a great cloud, off on the search for new conquests.

Impossible to outguess them! No creatures ever acted so whimsically or showed such a lack of rational, orderly method. One field they might entirely lay waste, while they ate only a few rods into the next; a third, lying close beside the others, they might not choose to touch at all. In one field they would cut the stalks, leaving the ground strewn with a green carpet of heads; in the next they might content themselves with shearing the beard—then the grain looked like shorn sheep with the ears gone. Nor were they at all fastidious: potatoes and vegetables of all kinds, barley and oats, wheat and rye—it made no difference; or a swarm of insects might light on a wagon box, and when it lifted again the box would have been scarred by countless sharp teeth; at one place a fork with a handle of hickory might be standing in the ground, and after a few swarms had passed the surface of the handle would be rasped and chewed, a mass of loose slivers; somewhere else a garment might be laid out on the ground to dry—a swarm would light on it, and in a moment only shreds would be left; if the annihilating devils were in the proper mood, they would take anything and leave nothing.

The folk looked on helplessly, in grim despair and awe-stricken wonder; the more timid ones among them were oppressed by a growing fear, while the godless swore so that the air smelled of brimstone; the pious would assemble in homes and churches, entreating the Lord to deliver them from famine and pestilence; but the brave did not lose heart, and kept on busily inventing all sorts of devices with which to drive the demons away. Many odd expedients were tried in different places; simple-minded people would take a washtub and a rolling pin, and beat until they were tired, but never a ripple did such a din cause in the current’s steady flow.

And all the while the folk tried to comfort one another.... It will be better by-and-by, you know!... This plague must leave _some time_—it can’t go on forever!... The Sognings were a people of even temperament, not easily flustered; they bore the affliction with remarkable calmness and fortitude. Of course this thing would have to stop! They had faith to believe it—how could it well be otherwise?... And their cousins, the Vossings, would always agree with them. Yes, indeed! Why, such things always seem hardest to bear at the first—don’t we know _that_?... Some one would think of a hallowed consolation with which to comfort the others. Wasn’t it pretty bad in Egypt?—But what did the Book say? Didn’t the plague vanish there? Why, it had lasted practically no time at all!... I’ll bet my last dollar, some one else would venture, that next year everything will be all right!... And when it turned out to be just as bad the following year, the same person would be even more confident. Now, see—we’ve had this thing with us two years already—this is the end! Who ever heard of a plague lasting forever? Don’t you remember the Black Death? That finished up in half a year, didn’t it, and was never heard of again?... And even when the third summer came, and there was no let-up in the awful visitation, some bright head would remember the indisputable fact that _all good things are three_. So there!—Now let’s thank the Lord that we’re through with it at last! Just wait awhile—the soil out here is first class; if we hang on, we’re sure to make a clean sweep!... On the fourth summer the plague raged worse than ever before; but now it had begun to lose its power over the people—they feared it no longer. We’re getting used to it, they would say with a bitter laugh. It takes neither man nor beast—let’s thank God for _that_, anyway!...

III. The Glory of the Lord

I

A day in June, of quivering, vital sunlight.... The irregular shadows of fleecy clouds drifting across an endless plain.... Sun and irregular, fleecy clouds—nothing but these all day....

Over the prairie, making toward the settlement by Spring Creek, rattled an old, dilapidated cart, antique of build, in a state so wretched that it seemed ready to fall apart at the next tussock it might encounter.

The nag in front was in perfect keeping with the vehicle: long-shanked and rawboned, and so lean and lanky that one could have counted every rib. Originally its colour might have been a light grey, but now it was no longer definable: dirty grey, rusty, yellowish-brown—it might have been any one of these, or just as accurately something else. Only a few miserable hanks were left of what probably had once been a flowing mane. Above the shoulders rose a big hump; when the animal stretched out its neck, one was reminded of a dromedary. Undoubtedly it had once been an authentic horse, but that must have been a long time ago.

The man in the seat was of even more uncertain age than either horse or vehicle. He might be forty-five, or he might just as likely be sixty-five. But for his beard and stoutness, one would be inclined to guess the former figure, for the expression of his face was still youthful, the eyes bright and sparkling with something boyish in their gleam. But the beard clearly suggested a more advanced age; it stretched from ear to ear, forming a thick fringe around the chin; it was perhaps an inch long, heavy and stiff, originally blond in color, but now streaked with grey. The clothes, too, testified to the man’s advanced age; especially the coat, which seemed to be neither coat nor jacket, but something out of the ordinary—a garment of thin black cloth, loosely fitting, too long to be called a jacket, yet not long enough for a topcoat.

The horse trudged slowly on, the cart jolting and rumbling behind; the man on the seat allowed him to dawdle as much as he pleased, and hummed tunes to himself to pass the time. After a long while the sod huts by Spring Creek began almost imperceptibly to lift their heads out of the ground; and not a bit too soon, for evening was fast coming on.

A couple of frame houses, one large and square, the other smaller and with a high gable, had long been visible. They seemed strangely conspicuous in the bare, level landscape; one could not help wondering if they really belonged here in the wilderness. The man on the cart, however, apparently paid no heed to them; as the sod huts came more and more within the range of his vision, his humming gradually grew fainter and more intermittent.

“Hm ... hm.... Well, here they are. Move along now. King!” came coaxingly from out of the fringe of beard. “We must try to scratch gravel, you see, and get there before the folks go to bed. Go ’long, I tell you, go ’long!”

The sun had already set when the horse came to a standstill in front of one of the huts; the traveller did not get down.

“Anybody at home here?” he shouted in a strong voice.

Sounds of sudden movement were heard within. A stout toil-worn, red-faced man came hastily out, an equally stout but rounder woman rolled after him, both with their mouths full of food; the red-faced man was wiping his beard; both he and his wife were staring at the stranger.

“I asked if there were people here,” repeated the man, unconsciously falling into the idiom of his native tongue and using a phrase that carried a special meaning. Behind the fringe of his whiskers beamed a broad smile.

“Oh, the devil! Are you Norwegian, then?” shouted the red-faced man, jovially.

“So, so! Do you call on _that fellow_ around here?”

The man on the ground immediately grew serious; he and his wife were staring at the stranger.

“Have you any more food than you need for supper, and a place to put up a tired horse that’s been on his feet all day?”

Without waiting for an answer, the speaker threw down the lines, stepped out of the cart, stretched himself, and sighed with relief.

“My, my! How stiff one gets from all this shaking!... What’s your name, my good man?”

“My name is Syvert Tönseten. What kind of a fellow may you be?” Tönseten came close up and looked inquiringly at the stranger, who had now turned to the woman:

“Have you got any food in the house, mother?” And ignoring the man, the traveller took from his cart a large, old, and well-worn satchel, which he deposited on the ground.

“Why, yes ... of course ... if you will take what we have!” said Kjersti, slowly. There she paused; moving behind her husband, she took her hand from under her apron and gave a pull at his jacket; she had now looked the stranger over and didn’t feel altogether relieved....

Tönseten was too preoccupied with himself to notice her. “I am asking you,” he said with pompous dignity, “what kind of a fellow you are and what you are after. Are you looking for land?”

The stranger put his hands against his sides, looked straight at them, and said, impressively:

“I am a minister. As for you, my good man, you ought not to stand there swearing into the face of strangers!... Now let me ask you again: May I stop here to-night?”

“Good heavens!” exclaimed Tönseten, letting his breath go as if some one had hit him in the stomach.

“Oh, my! Oh, my!” wailed Kjersti, awe-stricken, yet overwhelmed with joy. “Is the man crazy? Can he really be a minister?... Of course he must stop here, if he can only eat the stuff we have!”

“Don’t worry about that, mother.” He turned to her husband. “And now you and I will attend to the horse.”

Tönseten’s knees were weak from penitent zeal; he trembled with eagerness to help; he wanted to talk, but his voice failed and the words would not come. But the horse was wonderfully well cared for; he even went back a second time, after they were through, to spread another layer of straw for bedding. While they worked the minister had many questions to ask; they took their own time about coming in.

At last Tönseten ushered the minister into the hut, placed a chair at the farthest end of the table, and bade him be seated. The table now was laid with a white tablecloth, on which had been placed a superabundance of food for only one person; there were _römmekolle_ and _flatbröd_, fresh milk and boiled eggs; there were coffee and cakes; but even so, Kjersti thought it too little to offer such a distinguished visitor; now she was busy frying a couple of egg pancakes. Thank goodness, there was plenty of what she had! She had hurriedly tidied up the room; it looked cozy and comfortable inside the hut, and the minister could not refrain from expressing his admiration.

Finally he sat up to the table and began to eat, praising everything that he tasted and helping himself bountifully, like a healthy person whose hunger has been sharpened by a long fast.

Tönseten remained standing in the middle of the floor, talking with the minister; his manner was humble almost to the point of unction, his voice had taken on a tone of great solemnity. Kjersti hung in the background by the stove, where the room lay in shadow, listening closely to the conversation; she was more concerned about what her husband said than to follow the minister’s discourse—Syvert was so easily excited, poor fellow, and had so little experience in talking to people of quality! She watched the minister as he helped himself liberally to the food, and felt the blessing of it descend upon her. How kind of him to say the nice things he did about the food she had prepared!... And he chatted with them so pleasantly and naturally! No traces of sermonizing in his talk! Why, he and Syvert were just discussing ordinary everyday things—about conditions as they were around there, about crops and prospects, about the best way to run a farm.... Now and then Tönseten would turn their conversation toward the future; he was more interested in visualizing how things were going to turn out than in making a bare statement of how they actually were; _that_ was something he could enlarge upon to the minister. And the minister seemed to have much good advice; thus they ought to do with that, he said, and so with this, but differently with the other.... At length he inquired about the religious life of the people in this locality. Tönseten cleared his throat at the question, which he had been expecting, and answered emphatically that that was a subject on which he wasn’t very well posted; you couldn’t expect a common farmer to know much about such matters. And then he began hurriedly to ask the pastor which way he had come, and whether he had seen many settlers in the parts through which he had travelled. This, in turn, gave him an opportunity to tell how the country looked hereabouts when he had first arrived six years ago; he waxed so eloquent on this point that it seemed difficult for him to stop.... Kjersti realized that he was now on extremely dangerous ground!——

At last the minister had finished his meal.

“Now then, my good man, be silent, and we will thank the Lord for this day.”

“Yes, yes—of course!” ... Tönseten blew his nose vigorously; but not knowing what to do with himself next, he stuck his thumbs inside his trousers-band, and stood where he was in the middle of the floor, utterly unnerved.

Kjersti sank down on the wood-box, and wiped her eyes with her apron.... She wanted to tell her husband to sit down, but simply couldn’t screw up her courage to do it.

Placing his folded hands on the table, the minister began in a quiet way, as if addressing some one they could not see who stood very near; he seemed to be well acquainted with this unseen being, for he spoke in a low voice and very intimately, as to a dear friend who, unexpectedly, had done him a good turn. He thanked Him for the day that now was past, nevermore to return, entreating Him to cast into the ocean of grace all sins committed on this day; he prayed long and earnestly for the people out here, for the house in which he sat, and especially for the man standing there who was so prone to swear; in one way or another He must come to him and remind him constantly of what His holy law provided with respect to this grievous sin. But He must not be too severe with these poor people, for they had wandered far from home and some had gone astray, and long had they dwelt out here in the Great Wilderness, without a shepherd and without care. Truly, life had not been easy for them!... After saying amen, he remained silent for some time, with hands still folded; from the candle on the table a pale glow was thrown over his face, touching the fringe of his beard with pure silver.... Peace had fallen on the room.

Then the minister arose.

“Praise be to God, and thanks to you, good people, for this sumptuous feast!”

Tönseten again blew his nose violently; then, overcome with confusion, he wheeled about and walked out of the hut.

Kjersti sat on the wood-box, weeping with mingled emotions. The minister came over and took her by the hand. “A fine meal you prepared for me, mother, and here are my heartfelt thanks!”

“Oh, well—that’s nothing!” ... She shook her head speechlessly, but could not let go his hand.

In a moment Tönseten returned.... This would never do, he wanted to explain. He wasn’t such a bad case as the minister seemed to think. He ought to hear some of the others when they let themselves go!... But as soon as he stood in the presence of the pastor, confusion overcame him again; he merely stuttered and stammered, and found nothing to say.

The minister now opened his satchel; first of all he took out a large, fat pouch, and then an ancient pipe, which he carefully cleaned and promptly filled. “A little incense, I think, will now be blessedly enjoyable.... No, just remain seated, mother.”

II

The sleeping quarters assigned to the minister were the spare sod house, a structure which was now to be found on every farm. Clothes were hung in it, and food was stored there, as well as tools and farm implements; it might even contain a blacksmith’s shop and a carpenter’s bench, if the size of the room was sufficient; but nearly always there was a bed, made and ready for use.

But the minister seemed more anxious to visit with them than to go to bed; he smoked pipe after pipe, striking it against his toe to knock out the ashes, each time filling and lighting it anew. He asked them all about their life, and the struggle they had had since they came to this place. This was rich for Tönseten; he never tired of telling.... Finally the minister knocked out the ashes of his pipe for the last time, got up, and laid it carefully aside.

“Well, now the day is done, and a fine, blessed day it has been; the night is approaching, so let us enjoy sweet repose.... Where do you intend to put me up for the night, mother?”

Both Kjersti and Tönseten felt that they must accompany him to the other hut. There stood the bed, with a small table at its side, covered with a rose-coloured cloth; the room was small and crowded, but seemed cozy and cheerful withal.

“Oh, here it will be sweet to stretch one’s weary limbs!” exclaimed the minister, joyfully.

“What a wonderful man he is!” thought Kjersti. She began to make many excuses because they had nothing better to offer.

With a mixture of jest and earnestness the minister rebuked her for such talk; soon they were all three laughing together, and it was so pleasant that the hosts could hardly tear themselves away.

Tönseten had aged considerably in the last two years; one who had known him before that time would scarcely recognize him now. He had struggled with a bad cough for two consecutive springs; this spring it had been so violent at times that he feared the end had come; but Kjersti had finally managed to boil and dose it out of him. It had left its mark, however; he became easily tired now, and needed a lot of sleep in order to keep going.

But to-night he didn’t get much sleep; and what little there was brought no rest. Serious things to think about had suddenly come forward.... Oh, my God!...

He would have liked to stay with the minister for a private and confidential talk; but he knew that Kjersti would never go away and leave them alone. While she was clearing the table, after they had gone back to their own house, he slipped out and walked over to the other hut; but when he got there he realized that it was too late; he couldn’t talk to the minister to-night—it would never do to disturb him now.

At last they went to bed together, Tönseten and his wife. Kjersti lost consciousness almost at once; but Syvert lay awake a long while, pondering over how he might be able to gain the ear of the minister.... “To-morrow morning,” he thought, “before the minister shows up, I’ll take some wash water over to him. I’ll sit down in the doorway while he washes, where I can see if anyone is coming; then, maybe, I’ll get a chance to talk with him.... I’ll tell him everything. There’s going to be the devil to pay! Useless to try any tricks here—I can’t get out of it. His eyes are too keen—they see right through you!... But suppose Kjersti comes along while we are talking? Well, there you are! He would be likely to refer to it again when we go over to the house, and that would give the whole thing away; he’s a terror when he begins asking questions! No, this thing has always been my own worry, and it shall continue to be.... O Lord! I dread it like hell! If he could make such a fuss over that little innocent word I dropped, just speaking _naturally_, what will he say about _this_?” ... Cold sweat was standing on Tönseten’s forehead.... “No, it will probably be better to wait till he leaves; then I can go along with him a little way—get out of range of those eyes of hers.”

This decision brought him something like peace, but no sleep; for now he had to consider how to present the case in the best light possible. No sooner had he begun to think that over than the whole wretched business stood clearly before his eyes; there he lay, wide awake, staring at his great sin....

Tönseten was indeed in a terrible plight; none but himself knew how utterly heinous and desperate it was. Until last spring he hadn’t known it, either; but at that time, when he was lying prostrate and the cough was threatening to make an end of him, he had come to a full realization of the enormity of his deed; since then it had hung over him like a dark shadow, growing deeper and deeper the longer he turned it in his mind.... Just imagine a perfectly innocent man getting himself into such a fix! But had anyone, innocent or guilty, ever committed a sin like the one that lay at his door?

This minister seemed to have a lot of sense, though; perhaps he might understand that it wasn’t altogether Syvert’s fault, in a manner of speaking.... They had come to him, you see—he couldn’t get out of it. He had been legally elected, too; and one of the specified duties of his office was to do just _this thing_. Surely those who had laid down the law and forced ignorant people to perform such acts ought to be made to bear part of the blame!... Of course, he might have objected. Oh yes, that was just it—he might have refused. That was probably just what the minister would say; he felt it in his bones. Great God, what a mess!... The picture of it passed before his mind in rank and file, clearly and distinctly; he could both see and hear the actors of that hateful drama; and so he lived it over once more to the last detail, muttering to himself, and turning alternately hot and cold.

It would be just four years the coming fall since this transgression had taken place.... It had even happened on a Sunday afternoon.... Well, perhaps that wasn’t so bad. The whole crowd had come walking up toward the hut; nearly all the east-siders were in the procession, with Johannes Mörstad and his girl, Josie, in the center.... Halvor Hegg had explained their errand—Halvor, he was a pretty decent fellow. Tönseten couldn’t remember the exact words now, but their import was something like this: “You are a justice of the peace, Syvert Tönseten, and that is a very important office.” He remembered one thing distinctly, that Halvor had emphasized the word _important_. “Now, Johannes and Josie, they want to get married and live together, because Johannes, he needs help the way he is hustling; and there isn’t anyone else but you to perform the ceremony. According to law and justice, you’ll have to do it, too, as near as you can in the Christian manner; you realize that yourself.” That was the trend of Halvor’s remarks.... Tönseten groaned aloud, for he well remembered how frightened he had been when he had finally waked up to the grim fact that Halvor meant what he said. Since last spring, when he had lain there fighting with death, he had scarcely thought of anything else....

And that Sunday afternoon he had married the couple!

If he could only be sure, even, that he had done it properly according to law! But he had been unable to find the papers and instructions furnished him for such an occasion; not that they would have helped him much, for they were all in English.... The neighbours had elected him justice of the peace when they organized the town; the regulations called for such an official, and they had poked a lot of fun at him about his important office. At that time he hadn’t dreamed that it would ever call for legal or technical action, least of all for anything like _that_.... How could he, an ignorant layman, have dared to go to work deliberately and do such a sacrilegious thing! Tönseten spat on the floor and rolled over in bed; he was absolutely convinced that the heaviest sin one could commit was that of meddling in sacred matters.

... He _had_ excused himself—he _had_ tried to get out of it! He had insisted that he didn’t know how—the neighbours could testify to that!...

The worst of it was that the young people had made merry with him about it, both then and afterward; they had hurrahed for the “parson” as well as for the bridal couple, and had applauded the whole ceremony as if it were a joke.... And Johannes and Josie had moved at once into a house of their own and had lived together as man and wife ever since.... What infamy! The minister would simply have to do something about it!... Oh yes, he recalled the whole damnable business....

Why, hadn’t the two principals themselves, Johannes and Josie, stood before him without a sign of seriousness in their attitude; hadn’t they even laughed right into his face?... And he couldn’t be certain that he, too, hadn’t smiled, although he had tried hard to keep his face straight.... Then he had taken her hand and placed it in Johannes’s.... No, now let’s see, it must have been the other way around; it had been Josie, however, who had taken the notion that he wasn’t doing it right, and had insisted on changing the hands—the others had laughed and shouted fit to kill.... With that settled, in a deep silence he had pronounced these words: “Now, Johannes, you take this woman standing by your side—yes, I say, take her now, and use her decently and honorably, as is befitting good Norwegian folk!” After that he had uttered the word “amen” in a loud voice—for the life of him he couldn’t think of anything else to say. And Josie had looked up brightly into his face, her eyes snapping with mischief—she was such a pretty girl and had laughed so happily.... Since then these two had lived together as man and wife—in infamy! But after all, no serious calamity had befallen them, save that the children had come so terribly close together; at any rate, they were all pretty and well shaped!... Huf! Huf!...

Tönseten turned over for the twentieth time. Oh, well, he would confess to the minister in the morning, let the chastising be ever so severe. He must be absolved of this sin! If that cough should return next winter, there was no telling what might happen!...

Since children baptized at home could be rebaptized by a minister, as if the religious ceremony had only been postponed, there was no logical reason why a matter like this couldn’t be mended!

At breakfast next morning the minister kept asking a host of questions; he inquired at length about everything that his brief survey had shown him: Who lived in this hut and who lived in that? Who had built the big houses? How had those men happened to prosper ahead of the others?

Tönseten sat at the opposite end of the table, where he was served separately. This morning he didn’t seem to have any appetite—he couldn’t relish his food.... It was astonishing how many things the minister found to ask questions about.... Throughout the breakfast Tönseten sat in the grip of a silent fear, afraid of what might come next; as soon as the meal was safely over, he found a pretext for leaving the room.

A few moments later the minister came out into the yard, with his satchel in his hand, and glanced around at the neighbourhood where he had arrived. In his wake came Kjersti, bashfully tripping out of the house; Tönseten walked restlessly about the yard, handling one thing after another, but did not approach the minister; then the latter called out to him:

... Who lived directly west of them?

... Why, that was Hans Olsa—that is to say, Hans Vaag.

... And to the north?

... That was Per Holm—or rather Per Hansa, as he was called.

The minister scrutinized closely that part of the settlement visible from where they stood; then he went on with his inquiries about the people.

... Where was the largest house?

... Did he mean the biggest room? Well, that was at Per Holm’s; he had gone ahead and built on a big scale the very spring he came out; people had thought him crazy for putting up such a sod house, but it had turned out that he wasn’t so crazy, after all.... Torkel Tallaksen was now building a grand house of lumber, that would surely be a mansion when it was finished; but it wasn’t done yet....

“Well, now, let’s get to work,” said the minister, resolutely. “First of all, my good man, I must get you to help me. Will you hurry around to all your neighbours and tell them that to-day, at two o’clock, I shall conduct divine services at the house of this man Per Holm. Everyone must be present—tell them that they have to come! And you, mother”—he turned to address Kjersti—“I think it would be a kindness of you if you were to go over and help Mrs. Holm get the house ready for the service; it need not be anything extraordinary, but the place in which the Lord’s blessings are dealt out ought at least to be clean and tidy!”

They gazed at the minister in alarm, but for a while said nothing.

“Well—poor Beret!” sighed Kjersti, compassionately.

“Beret?... So that is her name? What is the matter with the woman? Are they so very poor?”

Suddenly Tönseten forgot his reserve and spoke up emphatically: “I’ll tell you about it. This Per Hansa—that is to say, Per Holm—he has got rich out here; he has done better than anyone else, though he came here without a cent to his name. And why shouldn’t he have done well? He has plenty of help in his own family, so he never needs to hire; and besides that, good luck has followed him right along. The first year we settled, for instance, the grasshoppers came and made a clean sweep of the rest of us; but Per Hansa saved his whole crop! The same year he made a big haul with his potatoes ... why, he must have sold for a thousand that year, and nobody knows how much he has made these years on the fur trade that he’s carried on with the Indians.... He is now settled on three quarters of land!”

“Well, well! that’s fine! But what ails his wife?”

Now it was Kjersti’s turn; she shook her head sadly as she related all the distressing circumstances. Now and then Tönseten, fearing that she hadn’t made things clear enough, would put in a word. The minister prompted them with questions. After a while he had learned the whole sad story about Beret Holm.... His face clouded as he listened; it was as if the sun had suddenly darkened over a beautiful landscape, until it became drab and desolate to look upon. For a long time he stood there absorbed in thought, the two gazing at him apprehensively; they dared not speak to him in this mood. At last he said, quietly, “I think we had better arrange it this way, mother: I will go over there first, and you follow about noontime. As for you, my friend,” turning to Tönseten, “try to do your errand well! Remember that they must bring all the children requiring baptism. Don’t forget that! And tell them to be sure and bring their hymn books, too.”

The minister was now making his preparations to go to Per Hansa’s; as the distance was so short, he had decided to leave his horse.

Tönseten fussed about uneasily, delaying his errand; he assured the minister that he needn’t worry—he would get the message around to everybody in good season—it would only take a minute or two!... His red beard caught the sunlight every time he moved his head, which now kept bobbing around in a ridiculous way.

At last the minister took his departure and Tönseten was on hand to go along with him.

“Let me carry that satchel for you.... I’ll begin here on the north side and work east—that’s the shortest way.”

They walked on side by side, the minister deeply absorbed in thought; after a while Tönseten fell a little way behind.

“I want to talk to you about something,” he tried to say casually. His voice was so faint and low that the other could hardly catch it.

The minister stopped short and looked at him. Tönseten glanced this way and that; his eyes fell to the ground and he made nervous dashes here and there, as if seeking escape....

“Well?” ...

Too late now!... Tönseten took a deep breath, summoned all his courage, glanced once at the minister—then turned his head away....

“I just wanted to ask you if ... well ... if it’s possible to marry a couple who are already married? Because in that case, I’d ask them to come, too.”

“You mean, they are divorced?”

“No, indeed, not divorced! Heavens! I should say not! But maybe it wasn’t done just right, you see, when the ceremony was performed....”

“I am afraid I do not understand you.”

Tönseten spat out a huge mouthful of tobacco juice, and looked up into the sky.

“You see, it happened here,” he confessed in a desperate voice, “that we had to organize the township; so we had to have officials, you see. Well, they went ahead and elected me justice of the peace.... How could I help it, I’d like to know?... And then, you see, there wasn’t a minister to be found in all Dakota Territory—there simply wasn’t one in sight!” Tönseten waved his hand with a wild gesture, still looking off into the sky.

The minister’s face expanded into a broad smile.

“And so you had to serve as minister?”

“You’ve hit it—that’s _exactly_ what happened!... You see, this fellow, Johannes Mörstad, and his wife, they couldn’t wait any longer—they should have been married long before, for that matter. And so they pounced upon me!... I refused point blank, of course ... I have witnesses to _that_. But then, you see, I really was justice of the peace; and at last I had to give in.... That’s the worst sin of all!” ... Tönseten could only whisper now.

“And so you married them?” said the minister, slowly.

“Well, yes—I pitched in and did the best I could.... But now you’ve got to fix it up properly!” begged Tönseten.

The minister’s smile suddenly became a loud chuckle; Tönseten listened incredulously; that chuckle descended on the anxious old fellow like a warm shower; it gave him courage to glance again at his companion. So great was his thankfulness that the feeling surged through him: for that man he could gladly die!

He spat and sputtered, blowing his nose in stentorian tones; but he could not take his eyes off the other man’s face.

“Was it long ago?”

“It will be four years this coming fall.... It was the third Sunday after Trinity, to be exact. I put a mark in my hymn book.”

“You did what the law prescribed?”

“Of course I did!... Well, that is to say ... I’m only an ignorant man....”

“Are there any children?”

“Children! Don’t talk about it! There are three of them already, with a fourth well on the way. As far as that part of it is concerned,” Tönseten observed in all seriousness, “everything seems to have been done properly enough! But ... well, you’ll just have to do it over again!”

“No,” said the minister, still smiling, “that is your job, and I’ll have nothing to do with it. But tell them to bring the children with them.... And now see that you get started!”

“But wasn’t it a sacrilegious thing to do?”

“Yes, under normal conditions—undoubtedly. But at the time, as you say, conditions were far from normal out here, and you had been duly elected to perform certain official duties.... The Children of Israel wandered about in the desert; at first they used the barren desert for their house of worship, then came the tabernacle, finally the temple. And so with our people in this country. Such marrying practices as some people have here are sacrilegious and must be discontinued ... you’re right in that.”

“Do you think the Lord will ever forgive me?”

“That I truly believe He will! This probably is not the worst sin you have committed!” ...

Tönseten’s joy and relief were almost suffocating; he wiped his eyes as he gazed at the minister.... What a marvellously sensible man!...

“I’ll hurry right off and tell them!... But, please, I beg of you, don’t mention this at home. You see—well, Kjersti is not very strong.” ...

And now Tönseten was speeding along in great excitement from farm to farm, announcing to all the people that a pastor had come to them at last and that they must gather to hear him, he was such a wonderfully able man. And the farther and faster he went, the easier became the road and the more wonderful did the minister grow in his mind, a fact which he emphasized at every place he came to and enlarged upon whenever he could stop long enough to draw breath. And he forgot neither the children nor the hymn books; he even found other items to bring to their attention.... All the while he was thinking: Just imagine, even _he_ could splice a couple together so that it was all right with the Lord! Well, well, that certainly was a most remarkable thing!...

III

The minister stood in the corner next to the window, arrayed in full canonicals. The gown was threadbare and badly wrinkled, as a result of its many journeys inside the old valise; the ruff might have been whiter, perhaps; but such trifles were not noticed now, for here stood a real Norwegian minister in ruff and robe!... It was undoubtedly true, what Tönseten had said about him—he was an altogether remarkable man. The vestments which he wore seemed only to emphasize the strength of his features, whose youthful vigour, in spite of the grey-streaked beard, appeared at this solemn moment to have taken on a new glow of life.

The table, spread with a white cloth, had been placed so close to the window that the minister barely had space to stand behind it; on the table stood two homemade candles, one at either end; the candlesticks, too, were homemade, cut from two four-inch pieces of sapling, with the bark left on and painted white; at a little distance they looked like curious works of art. The candles were not yet lighted; a bible and a hymn book lay between them.

The time for the meeting had come. The people filed slowly in and took their places, settling down wherever space was available; on the beds sat women crowded close together, strung along the edge like beads; these were mostly the mothers, and behind them sat and lay the children all over the beds; on the big chest eight in all had taken their seats, running from big to little; the chest had been pulled out from the wall, so that people could sit on all four sides; the six rough benches which Per Hansa and Hans Olsa had hastily nailed together were now filled to capacity, mostly by women, young children, and older people who were not able to stay on their feet so long.

The beds stood in one corner of the room, the stove in another; in the third were the minister and the table; in the fourth, and on every available part of the floor, people were packed like sardines. As many as the room would actually hold had crowded in, eager to see the minister. But not all who had come could gain an entrance; quite a crowd had to remain outdoors: some stood along the walls; others had settled down on the grass. From those outside the house came the subdued sound of talk and laughter.

The women had dressed up in their best for the occasion, and most of the men, as well; but here and there one saw a man who had come straight from his work in the fields, his face covered with sweat and grime....

In the dense cluster of people by the door some one cleared his throat loudly; another was heard to mutter that it was a good thing they didn’t have to be particular about the floor! This latter remark caused a slight disturbance in the group; a voice laughed outright, and a couple of men tried to push the people ahead of them forward a little, so that they could clear a space to spit in.... The minister glanced up sharply, searching the crowd for the one who had spoken; the youthful look on his face changed to sternness as he rapped on the table:

“Let us have silence, good people! We will begin at once.” He raised his voice: “Those who are outside must keep perfectly quiet!”

And now a deep silence descended on the closely packed room; through this silence the sound of quiet breathing rose and fell, gently yet perceptibly, like the rise and fall of a heavy ocean swell.

The pastor read the opening prayer. Then he announced the hymn which they were to sing, and himself led the singing; a few joined in at first, one voice after another straggling along, like waves on a calm sea; but before the first stanza was ended every voice had picked up the tune and the room was vibrating to a surge of mighty song. After the hymn the minister chanted, conducting the full service just as if it had been in a real church.... How wonderful it seemed!... Before long the men had to slip their coats off, it had grown so warm in the room.